


put your records on

by alrightyaphrodite (justhismorning)



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Record Store, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blogger Kim Jungeun | Kim Lip, F/F, First Meetings, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Light Angst, Oral Sex, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhismorning/pseuds/alrightyaphrodite
Summary: There was a simplicity in the ordeal. A comfortable sense of narrative chronology. The storeroom door closing behind them, their lips crashing together in a kiss that tasted like cigarettes and alcohol and lipstick, getting pushed against the door, getting a thigh shoved between her legs. The vibrations of the bassy speakers outside still rumbling through their bones as their pelvises collided. It was like watching a play. Act one, act two, act three. There was a comfort in it.(In which Jungeun, archetypal Cool Girl and blogger extraordinaire, helps Jinsol, in all her repressed uncertainty, remember what it's like to be loved. Except they don't love each other, really. It's complicated.)
Relationships: Jung Jinsol | Jinsoul/Kim Jungeun | Kim Lip
Comments: 20
Kudos: 198





	1. engage with the culture

**Author's Note:**

> as always, i start on things thinking i can make them one shots, and then i realise oh no, oh god oh no... this is NOT going to be a one shot! anyway, please enjoy.

This was starting to be a problem.

Then again, Jinsol knew it was going to be a problem the moment she sauntered into the shop — blonde hair brushing her waist, skinny jeans hugging every inch of her form, smile completely disarming.

Jinsol knew it was going to be a problem as she stood behind the counter, mouth agape as she watched this blonde-haired stranger flit from shelf to shelf, deft fingers flicking between vinyls with visible dexterity, enough to make Jinsol pink. Hips swaying, damn near strutting, like she owned the world.

Like she had nowhere else to be, nothing else to do, but be here, and drive Jinsol mad.

(It was also a problem because the girl never actually _bought_ any records from the store, but Jinsol was choosing to ignore that relatively inconsequential tidbit.)

“You know, Jinsol, maybe if you got on Tinder like I told you to, you would be a smidge less horny for blondie,” said Sooyoung with an annoyingly smug sort of drawl, the sort that was seriously testing Jinsol’s ability not to stroll over there and slap her gently across the face— only in a best friends-and-business partners capacity, of course.

Jinsol’s head whipped around from where she had been gazing out the display window as she sweeped the linoleum floors. Instead of caving into the temptation of a physical altercation, Jinsol looked at Sooyoung with narrowed eyes, halting mid-sweep. She hated that Sooyoung noticed her mopey, longing stares; it had been two days since the girl Sooyoung dubbed _blondie_ had last visited, and Jinsol was starting to experience serious withdrawal symptoms. She was jonesing, hard.

She lifted the broom over her head, attempting some kind of intimidation, but Sooyoung just kept flipping through her magazine with that simpering grin.

“No clue what you’re going on about, Sooyoung.” Jinsol propped the broom against one of the walls of their store not plastered with posters and flyers for gigs, heading towards the storeroom in the back to pick up their new shipment. “Horny? It’s a foreign concept to me. That’s more your domain.”

“Oh, look at you, deflecting by shaming my promiscuity. Totally _not_ a transparent attempt to escape scrutiny,” Sooyoung teased, closing up the magazine — it was some of that alternative punk drivel Sooyoung was inclined to read. Jinsol supposed it was fitting, if a little stereotypical.

In the age-old narrative of the two best friends who opened a record store together, one _had_ to be the punkish, alternative one, that was just a cosmic inevitability, and that was Sooyoung’s role to embody.

“I’m too busy running this place,” Jinsol strained out as she emerged from the storeroom with a sizable box of records, tripping over her skirt as she staggered over to the shelves, “to experience this strange feeling you call horniness. You on the other hand, you can _WAP_ up a storm behind that counter all day.”

“Hey, it’s not easy being the enigmatically beautiful girl behind the counter who catches a passer-by’s gaze as they walk past the unassuming little record store,” Sooyoung said defensively. “I’m an extremely valuable marketing tactic.”

“Well, can _extremely valuable marketing tactic_ come over here and help me alphabetise the Sunmi records—”

The creak of their ancient oak door opening distracted the duo momentarily from their bickering, and it was a good thing that it did. Because, despite the comically oversized ‘we are closed’ sign that Jinsol had just hung on their entrance, a familiar whirlwind of blonde hair and skinny jeans was letting herself in anyway.

Sooyoung, standing and frozen, was smiling devilishly, wide eyes darting from Jinsol to the stranger, who was also frozen at the door. Ostensibly a little freaked out by the two pairs of eyes boring into her, and the eerily empty store.

“Welcome!” Sooyoung exclaimed finally, her voice overflowing with excitement, flashing her pearly whites. “We’re closed!” she exclaimed again, equally as excited.

But the girl wasn’t looking at Sooyoung. She was cocking her head, and looking right at Jinsol, who had lost all motor function in her jaw. It was a mix of being absolutely mortified at Sooyoung, and the fact that the stranger was wearing a pink top that hung off her shoulder dangerously, the sort of ridiculous too-pink pink that shouldn’t look good on anyone, and yet it just _had_ to look good on her. She had the most beautifully squared shoulders and _god,_ Jinsol was staring. She was absolutely staring, and ascending to another plane of existence, and she was physically incapable of stopping.

“Are you now?” she said to Jinsol, the corners of her lips turning up in latent amusement as she caught Jinsol’s less-than-subtle once-over. “I’m sure you can let me stay for a while, right, sweetheart?”

 _Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart._ Echoing in Jinsol’s head like scripture.

It was the first words they’d ever exchanged. Jinsol had an armful of Sunmi records, she was pretty sure her ears were redder than they’d ever been, not helped whatsoever by the sound of the beautiful stranger’s voice. It was hypnotic— low and commanding. The rumble of a purring lioness. 

How the hell was Jinsol supposed to say no to that?

“Of course,” she choked out. “Yeah, go ahead. Please. Absolutely. No, uh, no problem whatsoever.”

Jinsol hadn’t even finished her incoherent rambling when the girl walked away (thank god), towards the section labelled _new arrivals,_ and Sooyoung rushed to Jinsol’s side with a sloping grin. “Oh, so you had no clue what I was talking about, huh?” she teased under her breath, offloading some of the vinyls in Jinsol's arms.

“Shut up,” Jinsol hissed back, hurriedly catching herself in the nearest mirror and carding her fingers through her wavy fringe to readjust them. Sooyoung was slotting vinyls into the shelves mindlessly, too busy staring at Jinsol knowingly, obnoxiously impish, to care about the damn Sunmi records. “Does my hair look okay? Fuck.”

“It looks fine, darling, now could you come over here and ring me up?”

Jinsol clapped a hand over her mouth. _Shit._ She turned around slowly, the embarrassment starting at her toes and trickling its way across the rest of her body, and she caught a glimpse of the heavy Seoul traffic just outside the entrance— throwing herself into it was beginning to seem like a prospect worthy of serious consideration. 

The stranger, originator of the quip, was holding one of Lana del Rey’s single vinyls in her perfectly-manicured hands, smirking with perfectly-lined crimson lips, Jinsol managed a nod as she robot-walked over to the cashier, the clacking of Blondie’s heels ringing through the store.

Jinsol wasn’t a shy person, not by any stretch of the imagination. It had been a long time since she’d felt her stomach in her ass and her kidneys in her throat… or whatever figure of speech accurately encapsulated the feeling of complete enamourment she was experiencing.

“It’s a good song,” she said to her hands as she punched the price into the cash register. She willed her trembling hand to please calm the fuck down as she held it out to receive the payment. 

“It’s delicious. Such a delicious song.” 

Jinsol couldn’t fight it anymore — she let her eyes flicker upwards to meet the stranger’s, a tacit understanding in both their chuckles at the choice of adjective. There was something in this girl’s smile that was terrifying and magnetic and impossible to look away from. Jinsol _couldn’t_ look away from it, not even when all the money was already in her hand and she was just standing there, immobile, a dumb cluck.

Swiping her tongue across her lower lip nervously, she finally found it in her to move, and get the change. “Oh, it’s definitely delicious. It’s what chocolate syrup and whipped cream would be if it were a song,” Jinsol retorted with an easy smile, what she hoped was a _polite customer service_ smile and not a _I am developing an unhealthy obsession with you_ smile.

“The prose is almost as pretty as the girl.”

And just like that, Jinsol forgot how to breathe quite suddenly. It was by the grace of muscle memory alone that she managed to slide the 5000 won note across the counter, along with the bagged vinyl, with parted lips. She couldn’t decide was was more distracting — the blatant flirting or that smirk, that fucking cherry pink _smirk._

This girl knew exactly what she was doing to Jinsol.

“I— Thanks.”

“See you soon, sweetheart.” She threw a wink over her shoulder as she walked away, nodding at Sooyoung half-heartedly as she shouldered the door open. Like it was an afterthought.

-

Jinsol was good at distracting herself with work.

She was rather practised at it. She’d been doing it for about three years now. More specifically, ever since Ha Sooyoung had strolled into her college dorm room sans invitation, having caught a glimpse of something brass and shiny through Jinsol's half-open door. Pierced tongue resting on her lower lip, she’d slid a curious hand over Jinsol’s most prized possession, a 1960s antique gramophone, and raised an eyebrow.

“1960s with an oak base? Good shit.”

They sat on the floor of Jinsol’s room for nearly 24 hours that day, the first day they met, rolling joints and talking about every single one of Jinsol’s hundreds of vinyls which she kept in boxes under her bed, till they were splayed out in in a veritable sea of records. High as kites on a newfound connection and crappy weed.

They danced carelessly to Musicology by Prince and fell into fits when Jinsol put on Not Today by BTS and they couldn’t believe that they’d actually found each other. They’d actually found another person on campus who knew exactly what it felt like to press their noses into a new record and get flushed with that flood of serotonin, seemingly enough for a lifetime.

“Hey,” Sooyoung had suggested, voice raspy from smoke and laughter, handing Jinsol a blunt stained with Sooyoung’s dark lipstick, “we should open a store. We should do it. After we graduate.”

“After we graduate,” Jinsol had repeated, her voice echoing a distant dream. “After we graduate. We’ll do it.”

And they really had. That cannabis-induced idea turned into a real thing, and Sooyoung and Jinsol got to smell that new vinyl smell every single day, and that 1960s gramophone was in the centre of it all.

Jinsol didn’t ever want to lose this. Which was why she was so good at distracting herself with work, good at ensuring sexual encounters were brief and emotionless, a drunken lay with some faceless girl from a trashy gay bar. She was married to this place, which complicated romances and simplified singledom.

“Jiwoo-ah!” came Sooyoung’s excited chirp as she shot up from her seat behind the counter. “Flyers?”

There was the familiar creak of their door opening, and Jinsol looked over at Jiwoo, who was beaming that smile of hers that was dazzlingly bright. Stack of flyers in tow, she nodded, and Jinsol made her way over to grab a few. 

“Yeah, a few gigs around the neighbourhood and some spoken word thingy down at Jongno-gu.” Jiwoo nodded graciously at Jinsol as they got to work plastering the flyers on their already-saturated walls.

Jinsol liked Jiwoo. Jiwoo was a friend in the local music scene who was big on trying to _build community_ or _foster working class solidarity_ — something Jinsol vaguely remembered as being undeniably important, but also bombastic and righteous like that. In her capacity as the manager of a relatively successful neighbourhood bar, she took it upon herself to collate promotional material for smaller artists or establishments, and spread the word.

That bar she ran had acquired the label _underground,_ owing to the semi-regular punk gigs and moshing that transpired there, but Jiwoo herself certainly wasn’t _underground_ by any conceivable definition of the word. She stood, clad in a babydoll dress and pastel earrings which swung from her lobes, as they stuck on the ads and Sooyoung made small talk from behind the counter.

“How’s business?” Jiwoo asked, polite and in the same tone that question was always asked.

“Ah, well. As good as it can be for an indie record store run by two people, I suppose,” Sooyoung replied, equally as polite. Humbler than Sooyoung usually was.

Jiwoo cut a stripe of tape with a sharp acrylic nail, sticking a flyer on the wall of some death metal band called _Pig Worship 666._ Jinsol made a mental note to order a few of their records for the store, just for her own sick amusement. “Oh! I only asked because I thought business might’ve improved since that post,” said Jiwoo, with a light smile.

Jinsol looked over at Sooyoung with furrowed brows, and was thankful to see Sooyoung’s brows were furrowed too.

“What post?” they said in near-unison, looking back at Jiwoo who was smiling at nothing in particular.

“Hm?” When Jiwoo noticed that the two girls had not the faintest clue what she was referring to, she frowned, jutting her lip out. Frowns looked decidedly out-of-place on Jiwoo’s face, Jinsol thought. “The post about your store? On that blog?”

“You’re saying these things in a tone that implies I should know what you’re talking about, which isn’t really helping.” Sooyoung emerged from behind the counter. “What blog? What post? Specifics, Kim Jiwoo, I need _specifics.”_

She slid her phone out of her pocket with a few confused noises, and a few seconds later, it was being thrust into the faces of the two girls.

 _Hole-in-wall record store, Spinster, down at Hongdae totally stole my heart,_ read the title of the post, and Sooyoung and Jinsol shared another incredulous look. “Who wrote this?” Jinsol murmured. 

“Wait, you guys don’t know this chick? K-dot-lippie on Instagram?”

They shook their heads. Jiwoo looked at them like they’d just fused.

“Come on, I get that you guys are supposed to be all indie and shit but engage with the culture _a little,_ would you?” sighed Jiwoo, exasperation either very real or very well-acted, as she pulled her phone back and ostensibly went onto her Instagram instead.

When the phone was thrust back into their faces, all of the air in Jinsol’s lungs was ejected unceremoniously.

Oh.

_Oh._

Jinsol did what she was best at, those two weeks when the beautiful stranger didn’t return to the store. She worked, and she worked some more, and she almost forgot. Except when there was the fleeting ghost of waist-length blonde hair in a passing stranger or particularly crimson lips— she really, _almost_ forgot.

“It’s Blondie!” cried Sooyoung, index finger extended towards the still image on Jiwoo’s phone screen, as if the girl on the other side would hear the accusation in her voice. 

Jiwoo lowered her arm, ignoring Sooyoung’s outburst. “She’s pretty popular among youth these days. I thought it might’ve drawn some attention to your establishment.”

“Jiwoo… _Youth? Establishment?_ Are you 50 years old?” 

That earned Sooyoung a smack on the shoulder from Jiwoo, but Jinsol wasn’t much present during the commotion. She reached out a trembling hand, gripped Jiwoo’s wrist and lifted her hand back up so Jinsol could gaze at the screen for another moment. She was having one of those out-of-body moments. Those that happens when something so unbelievable and stupidly serendipitous takes place that one’s soul exits their body.

This was real. This was real, right?

That was unmistakably her, but Jinsol thought she was much more striking in person, in movement. In person, she was all grace and coy smiles and her face had an ethereal quality to it, like it belonged on Michaelangelo’s statues, and when she moved, she moved slowly— almost preternaturally so. It was like watching the carved form of Venus come to life.

And now the carved form of Venus was on Jiwoo’s phone screen, posing with a cup of coffee at some hipster cafe, lipstick mark on the rim of her mug. Pixels.

It hit Jinsol then just how much she wanted to see her again.

“Don’t go just yet, don’t forget to pass ours around too!” Jinsol heard Sooyoung say as she rushed to the back to grab their little printed posters for their store and hand them to Jiwoo, and Jinsol dropped Jiwoo’s wrist just in time for her to be able to take them.

“Read the post, guys, it’s actually really complimentary!” said Jiwoo as she headed to the exit, babydoll dress blowing in the breeze as she told them to come by for _Pig Worship 666’_ s gig at her bar that Friday.

“Hang on, Jiwoo!” Jinsol found it in herself to speak again. “This girl, this lippie girl. What’s her real name?”

“Jungeun, I believe. ‘Kay, weirdos, bye!” And with that, the door creaked shut behind Jiwoo, and Sooyoung and Jinsol were alone again.

“So Blondie was on some psy-op this whole time? An agent of the normies, a man of the mainstream? She infiltrated us right under our noses.” Sooyoung flopped back onto her chair behind the counter and opened her magazine, but not before making one more unsolicited comment. “And you still want to fuck her, don’t you?”

“Jesus!” Jinsol’s mind was running a mile a minute. She stood opposite Sooyoung, resting her elbows on the counter as she contemplated this. “Now that I think about it, we have been getting way more teenagers over the past week. Like, normie teenagers.”

“We have,” Sooyoung’s eyes rolled up lazily to meet Jinsol’s, her lips tight. “It’s been hell.”

“God, it has. We’re almost out of Twice records. This place smells like Ariana Grande perfume and phantom TikTok dances.”

Serious suddenly, Sooyoung’s magazine was shut forcefully. “Which is… good. This is good for us, right?”

“Right. It is objectively good for us,” Jinsol said decisively, wandering over to the gramophone, displayed proudly in the middle of the store, and tracing an unsure finger over its base. “Good for the store, not good for my mental health. Or my ovaries.”

“So you _do_ want to fuck her!” 

-

Their janky fan was whirring rhythmically as it spun at its highest speed, but even that wasn’t enough. There wasn’t much else Jinsol could take off without it being public indecency, already in her shortest of shorts and something sleeveless that revealed most of her torso. But it was the type of summer day that was stiflingly, inordinately hot, and after a few hours of being on her feet, helping out customers and restocking shelves, she had dragged Sooyoung out of her chair by force and flopped down herself instead, spent.

And in the haze of the heat and the exhaustion, Jinsol was zooming in on an Instagram photo of Jungeun’s with parted lips. It was a complete fever dream, the way those denim shorts pressed against her thighs left nothing to the imagination, the way she was biting her tongue with a wink and Jinsol licked at her lips, wanting something.

She wanted something, something she couldn’t really pinpoint. Something she didn’t want to name. Something heady and indulgent and exactly like Jungeun, really. 

“Sooyoung-ah,” she called, and Sooyoung just got done handing a record over to a customer with a saccharine smile.

Sooyoung was good at service work when she absolutely had to be. The main reason she encaged herself behind the counter was because she had the habit of cussing out customers who were rude to her — the dream of anyone working retail, honestly. A few times, she’d yelled something along the lines of “Lady, I’d give you the damn BTS Wings album if we had any left, and like I’ve already said approximately two _thousand_ times, we do not! Because apparently, Koreans have all gone half-deaf and this shit is actually in _demand!”_

After that, the decision to keep her behind the counter was unanimous. Two-zero.

She crossed the room, leaning her elbows against the counter and smiling sarcastically. “Yes ma’am, thank you so much for visiting our store, how can I help you on this beautiful morning?” she rushed out in dulcet tones. “Isn’t life just wonderful?” 

Jinsol ignored her. “What if, hypothetically, we hosted another gig?”

“Well, hypothetically, absolutely not,” Sooyoung raised an eyebrow. “You know what happened the last time we tried that. We spent way too much and it didn’t really help with business much anyway.”

“I mean, I guess. But… hypothetically, it could be fun.”

What was Jinsol supposed to say? She certainly couldn’t say that she wanted to see Jungeun again and that a big party appeared to be exactly the sort of thing that might get her attention and bring her back to the store. Say that and Sooyoung would be convinced that her business partner was a serial killer or something.

“It _was_ fun,” Sooyoung stroked her imaginary beard. “It was really fun.”

“Yes!” Jinsol stood up. “And we can do it better this time! We can get an actual bartender and not just leave out two bottles of warm coke and two bottles of Absolut.”

“Are you kidding me? The loose alcohol was 80 percent of the draw. It was so grunge.” Sooyoung pondered for only a second longer, then shrugged. “Ah hell, why not. I’ll text Jiwoo and ask her about bands who might want to play. And you can handle invites.”

Jinsol was smiling too wide for it to be natural.

Sooyoung noticed.

“Why… why the sudden idea, Jinsol-ssi?” Sooyoung walked two fingers up Jinsol’s arm, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Jinsol sat back down and blinked innocently at her friend. “Because I’m a genius, Sooyoung-ssi. I thought we’ve established that I’m the smart one, you’re the pretty one.” 

Sooyoung glared, opening her mouth to rally a comeback, but she was interrupted.

“Hi, excuse me, do you work here?” came a soft voice, a young girl tapping Sooyoung on the shoulder. “Do you have any of BTS’ Boy with Luv single vinyls left?”

Sooyoung took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. She reached up to massage her nose bridge, inhaling raggedly through her teeth.

Standing up with a start, Jinsol rushed forward to tap the girl’s hand gently, who was starting to look a little terrified at Sooyoung’s expression. She pushed Sooyoung back behind the counter. “I’ll uh… I’ll check in the back for you, dear.”

-

“Do you actually like this kind of music?”

The voice was just next to Jinsol’s ear, low and amused, but it could only _just_ be heard above the noise. The band on their little makeshift stage was playing a cover of some song by The Strokes, something dark and provocative, and despite the potent mix of soju and the sheer physicality of the bass pumping through Jinsol’s veins, Jinsol knew that voice.

Jungeun came.

“I do,” Jinsol replied, not turning around.

The voice was closer now, hot breath brushing past Jinsol’s ear. “If a straight man tells me he loves The Strokes, I just assume he’s emotionally manipulative.”

“It’s a very effective metric, I think. High levels of accuracy. The Strokes and Radiohead and Arctic Monkeys.” Jinsol turned around just in time to catch Jungeun’s chuckle. Jungeun laughed the way pretty people laugh. The way pretty people who _know_ that they’re pretty laugh. Jinsol was feeling bold and a little reckless, so she added, “I’m glad you came. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh, have you missed me, sweetheart?” Jungeun lifted her cup to her red lips. “No one as pretty as me to gawk at in the store?”

“Nope. No one.” The song ended with a moody guitar riff and the crowd cheered, shoving against each other despite the heat of the summer evening. In the dim light of the store, Jungeun was her own light source.

The room was almost quiet for a moment as the band got off stage and there was a brief gap, as Sooyoung put a record on, where there was no music at all. Jungeun and Jinsol regarded one another with curious eyes, raking over each other’s bodies. Usually, Jinsol would’ve felt a little exposed, considering the length of this skirt of hers. But Jungeun was looking at her in a way that was making her shiver. There was something loaded behind her eyes, and Jinsol thought she knew what it was.

“So if a straight man who listens to The Strokes is emotionally manipulative, what does that make you?” Jungeun asked, leaning forward, despite the relative quiet of the party.

Jinsol pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, a lesbian woman who listens to The Strokes is just depressed and horny, I think.” 

“It’s no wonder I hate them so much then. I'm neither.”

Sooyoung’s new favourite lo-fi record started to spin and Jungeun’s eyes were on Jinsol’s mouth.

“I read your post,” Jinsol offered, toying with the hem of her skirt.

Jungeun grimaced, chuckling lightly. “I really wish you hadn’t.”

“Why not? I liked it.” Jinsol tilted her head in a way she hoped Jungeun would read as flirty. She wasn’t the most skilled at flirting, but she knew how to tilt her head. That was pretty universal. “I liked it when you said…”

Jinsol trailed off because Jungeun took a step closer to her, and their faces were inches apart. Jinsol could see the light dusting of glitter on her cheekbones, and it was distracting her.

“You gonna keep staring, or you gonna finish your sentence, sweetheart?” drawled Jungeun, annoyingly coquettish. Jinsol swallowed thickly.

“You said that usually, vinyls are what people talk about when they don’t want to admit that they actually don’t have a real personality. I thought that was funny.”

“You have a real personality, don’t you, darling?” 

Jungeun’s fingers found Jinsol’s chin, lifting it up, and Jinsol shuddered at the touch.

“Well?” murmured Jungeun, still looking at Jinsol’s mouth, blatantly. She wet them, and Jungeun hummed happily at the sight.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe.”

Jungeun heels were giving her an unfair advantage, but Jinsol couldn’t bring herself to be mad because she was too busy trying not to fall apart. The band on stage was finished setting up and as the stage lights flicked back on, the crowd piped up again. Jinsol couldn’t look away from Jungeun, and everyone around them was jumping and singing along, but Jungeun was backlit against cheap LED lights, and she was leaning in, and they were the only two people in the whole wide world.

The fingers on her chin squeezed lightly, forcing Jinsol’s lips open. “This place has a lot of personality. And you built it, didn’t you Jinsol?”

It was that sound — the sound of her name on Jungeun’s lips that broke Jinsol’s dam. “I…” She gulped embarrassingly, and Jungeun’s hand fell back to her side. “I have to go. I have to go get something. In the back.”

But Jinsol didn’t move.

“Did you want me to come with?” Jungeun raised an eyebrow. 

“I don’t need help—”

“I’m asking you if you want to fuck, Jinsol,” Jungeun said, voice even, as she lifted her cup to her lips again, eyes not leaving Jinsol’s. “Do you want me to come with you to the back, and fuck you?”

And maybe it was this awful sticky feeling of sweat in the air, or the soju liquifying her brain, or the way Jungeun lips wrapped around her name. Maybe it was the pulse of the bass, maybe it was the way a large segment of her brain didn’t think any of this was actually happening.

Whatever it was, it was making Jinsol feel so utterly reckless and Jungeun looked so fucking _beautiful,_ so heartachingly beautiful. 

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Come with me.”

-

There was a simplicity in the ordeal. A comfortable sense of narrative chronology. The storeroom door closing behind them, their lips crashing together in a kiss that tasted like cigarettes and alcohol and lipstick, getting pushed against the door, getting a thigh shoved between her legs. The vibrations of the bassy speakers outside still rumbling through their bones as their pelvises collided. It was like watching a play. Act one, act two, act three. There was a comfort in it.

And yet, undergirding it, there was this exultant thrill — a vice-like high, like Jinsol was doing something bad, something wrong. Outside, the bass didn’t stop pumping, and people didn’t stop yelling, and Jungeun didn’t stop smiling, not even as she pulled Jinsol’s shirt off, pressed her lips into her neck. 

“Shit,” Jinsol made a kind of whine, because it had been a while, and she was remembering. Remembering intimacy, remembering closeness. Being touched. Being caressed, the way Jungeun’s hands were caressing her back. They wandered southward, as she palmed the outsides of Jinsol’s thighs, sliding underneath her skirt. 

“I’m gonna eat you out now,” she murmured against Jinsol’s neck, before getting on her knees in front of Jinsol. Still smiling.

“Please,” Jinsol replied, her voice wobbly, as she pressed her head into the door. “God, _please.”_

Jungeun’s hands were sliding up her knees, against her sensitive inner thigh, spreading her legs open. Jinsol looked down at her, and her lips were parted as she looked at Jinsol like she was some kind of divine thing. It was painfully, dizzyingly erotic and slow, so slow— Jungeun’s fingers hooked into Jinsol’s panties and she tugged them down, Jinsol too turned on to be embarrassed at how wet her panties were. 

Jinsol pulled down her skirt herself because she was impatient and she was needy, dammit, and she needed to feel Jungeun’s tongue on her, _in_ her. But Jungeun had different plans. With two fingers she touched Jinsol, gasping lightly at the wetness she found, and Jinsol hissed. Then, when Jungeun found her clit, she made a noise, loud and animalistic. Because she was remembering, now. Remembering what it felt like. The electricity, the build.

Her clit was being thumbed, Jungeun making circles expertly and Jinsol lifted a leg, resting it on Jungeun’s shoulder to allow her more access. “Hurry,” she choked out. “Would you— _fuck—_ would you hurry up, Jungeun?”

“You’re so fucking impatient.” She leaned forward to press an open-mouthed kiss into Jinsol’s inner thigh, and her mouth was warm as she continued her ministrations on Jinsol’s clit with her fingers, speeding up. “What’s the rush, baby? I want to look at your face.”

Breathing heavily, Jinsol grasped at the shelves on either side of her, trying not to be too loud, moaning as Jungeun slid one finger in, then two, her thumb still stroking at her clit. She was trying not to implode, trying not to collapse, trying to hold herself up.

Jinsol arched against the door as Jungeun started fucking into her in earnest, pumping in and out of her with a deft wrist and a practised curl of her fingers, just watching as Jinsol tossed her head left and right, fucking herself into Jungeun’s digits desperately. Still smiling.

And then Jinsol felt the warmth of Jungeun’s mouth, her dexterous tongue sliding against her lips. “Fuck—” she breathed out, hands flying to bury themselves in Jungeun’s hair. “Fucking _fuck—”_

Jungeun lapped at her wetness mercilessly, and still her fingers fucked into her, and Jinsol tugged at her hair, rolling her hips forward as she cried out from above Jungeun. She wasn’t going to last much longer, and Jungeun seemed to pick up on it.

“God, Jungeun, I’m—” 

Jungeun squeezed the side of her thigh by way of acknowledgement, and then she was sucking at Jinsol’s clit— and Jinsol was remembering what it felt like to come apart, complete vulnerability in ecstasy, coming against somebody else’s mouth. She went very still, shuddering, then slumped over.

Standing up and cracking her neck, Jungeun wiped the remnants of Jinsol’s wetness off her mouth with the back of her hand crudely. “Damn, how long has it been since someone gave you head?”

“At least a year now,” Jinsol tried to find her breath again, standing back up. Jungeun was handing her the clothes she’d shucked off, which she took gratefully, getting dressed.

“Right. That tracks.” Jungeun chuckled, fixing her hair. “How was that?”

“Do you want a Yelp review or something?” Jinsol flushed, not wanting to give an honest answer. She couldn’t possibly answer that it was both mind-blowing and life-altering, now could she? 

Jungeun was reaching into her pocket to grab a cigarette, and as she lit it, she mumbled, “Oh, I’ve never had a bad one. Five stars across the board for me. And I daresay you agree, based on the way you were moaning—”

“Shut up!” Jinsol reached forward, shoving Jungeun lightly on the shoulder.

“Nothing wrong with wanting and enjoying sex, Jinsol,” Jungeun said nonchalantly, opening the door that Jinsol was leaning on, letting the sounds of the party outside seep in. The clink of beer bottles. The laughter of the crowd. “I’m going, sweetheart. But if that review happens to be four stars or above, shoot me a DM on Instagram or something. We can do it again.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

“Fuck,” Jinsol murmured, burying her face in her hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

-

-

That Tuesday night, Jinsol stayed behind in the store even after Sooyoung left, under the pretense of settling bills.

That night, Jinsol got on _her_ knees in the storeroom, tasting Jungeun like a delicacy, remembering that giddying power trip of burying her face into a girl’s folds and closing her eyes and just going to town until someone came apart. Because of _her._

Jungeun really was one of Michelangelo's statues— it became far more clear when she took her clothes off. When Jinsol saw the pale expanse of her chest, the impossible softness of her thighs. And when she came, the feeling that came over Jinsol was so strong that she thought she might come too, just watching.

They shared a cigarette this time, sitting on the floor of the storeroom, a metre apart. Jungeun hadn’t bothered to put her shirt back on, languishing in her lacy bra. Jinsol didn’t mind, though it did make it slightly more difficult to focus on her face.

“So what’s your deal?” Jungeun asked, her voice less silky smooth than usual, scratchy from all her moaning.

“My _deal?_ Gee, thanks.”

“Yeah, your deal. The repression, the addiction to working, the internalised shame about your sexuality. Your deal.” Jungeun took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke out the side of her mouth, putting it out on the floor. 

“Wow, look at B-list Freud over here. Do you really want me to start in on my parental trauma right now? You just had an orgasm.” Jinsol stretched out, stifling a yawn. “You really want me to ruin your post-coitus bliss?”

“Good point," Jungeun chuckled to herself, like there was an inside joke she had with herself. "I’m your hookup, not your therapist, aren’t I?”

Hookup. Jinsol held that word in her mind, turned it over in there a few times. 

“Hookup,” she said aloud. “I’ve never actually done that before.”

“It’s easy. See, you’re doing it right now.” Jungeun stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very important appointment with Masterchef and my couch.”

Jinsol didn’t stand up, lost in thought, murmuring a half-hearted goodbye at Jungeun’s retreating figure.

There were myriad reasons she should’ve said no to the whole _hookup_ thing. There were great, logical, rational reasons that she should've done something — forced a negotiation, a redefining of the relationship. Jinsol could already see Sooyoung’s 20-slide Powerpoint of reasons she should’ve said no to it. 

But there was an image of Jungeun behind her eyelids, panting, thighs trembling. There was the ringing sound of Jinsol’s name on her lips. Flashes, ephemeral but real, where Jungeun was Jinsol’s, and Jinsol was Jungeun’s.

And so it was settled. Hookup. She could do that. She could definitely do that.

-

It was after two weeks of storeroom fucks when Sooyoung finally brought it up.

“I know you’re seeing Blondie, you know. I’m not stupid.” Sooyoung had her arms folded, her eyes narrowed.

Jinsol was dusting the gramophone, preparing for the store to open in 15 minutes, and for a moment, brief shock flashed across her face. “Your sleuthing skills never cease to amaze.”

“Seeing security footage of her walking into the store at 10pm doesn't exactly make me Holmes. But why didn’t you tell me?” She walked over to Jinsol and put a hand on her shoulder, and she had this sad, guilt-inducing expression on her face that was making Jinsol sad too.

It was uncharacteristic of Jinsol, who was usually utter shit at keeping secrets from Sooyoung. But there was an element of shame that Jinsol associated with this thing she had going with Jungeun, and every time she psyched herself up enough to open up to Sooyoung, there was a wave of guilt that rose up in her and silenced her again.

“God, I don’t know,” Jinsol said, turning to face Sooyoung and resting her own hand over Sooyoung’s. “I’m not really even _seeing_ her, anyway. We’re just… hooking up, I guess.”

 _“You?_ Are just ‘hooking up’ with _her?”_ Sooyoung gave exactly the reaction Jinsol expected her to give. One of cautious apprehension. “You’re a catch-feelings type of girl, Jinsol. We know this.”

Jinsol shrugged. “I think I’m doing fine. I’m not in love with her yet.”

 _“Yet_ being the operative term there, babe.”

And Jinsol shrugged again, petulant and juvenile. “I really don’t have feelings for her. I don’t.” She stalked off towards the counter to put some change in the register, but Sooyoung trailed behind her. 

“What’s her favourite colour?”

“Red,” Jinsol answered immediately, unthinkingly.

“Ice cream flavour?”

“Chocolate.”

Sooyoung eyes were wide. “How does she take her coffee?”

“Americano, iced. What— where are you going with this, dude?”

“Oh, you know _exactly_ where I’m going with this, Jinsol-ah!” Sooyoung threw her hands up. “Hookups don’t know these things about each other!”

“I— I mean, we text sometimes!” Jinsol stammered out. 

“Sometimes? How often is _sometimes,_ Jinsol?”

Jinsol swallowed. “Like… an hour a day?”

“An _hour_ a _day?”_ cried Sooyoung like a Shakespearean wunderkind, putting a hand over her heart. She started pacing dramatically, and Jinsol couldn’t do anything but roll her eyes. “Oh god. Jinsol, my poor, stupid Jinsol…”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine!” Jinsol said, and she wondered if she was saying it for Sooyoung or for herself. “I’m being very emotionally mature about the whole thing. Honest.”

“Listen, kiddo.” Sooyoung halted in her tracks. “What if she started fucking other people, huh? What then?” Sooyoung slammed her hands down on the counter. “What if she’s fucking other people right now, Jinsol?”

Jinsol blinked, once, twice, then four times in quick succession. The thought of Jungeun with another girl started out only mildly disquieting, which was promising, but it quickly morphed into a concept so disgusting she could hardly stand to consider it at all anymore, and she had to push it aside. 

“Whatever, she could do that. I wouldn’t care,” Jinsol said, lying through her teeth.

There was a ding of a phone notification, Jinsol’s, and both their eyes darted to her screen. It was a message from Jungeun, it read _‘woops, gonna have to get a rain check for tmr. plans!’_ and sure enough, when Sooyoung looked at Jinsol’s face, she was biting her lips nervously, mouth downturned.

“Sure, you definitely don’t care,” Sooyoung said, resigned. “I’ll just wait for the day I can say _I told you so_ then.”

Jinsol looked at the blinking pixels on her screen. Denial was surprisingly easy to fall into, Jinsol was finding. Denial was as easy as turning the phone over and pushing it away.

Denial was as easy as saying to Sooyoung with feigned finality, “I don’t have feelings for Jungeun. Drop it, okay?”

Denial was as easy as reaching into the recesses of her mind, and remembering what it felt like to have Jungeun and to be Jungeun’s. Basking in that feeling, pretending it was real.


	2. enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jinsol. What are you doing?”
> 
> Jinsol opted instead to fixate on her feet. Sooyoung’s eyes held a truth that Jinsol knew, one that Jinsol had known from the first time Jungeun’s lips had touched hers, one that after all this time, Jinsol was still too weak to face. One that she had to look away from.
> 
> Pathetic. She was pathetic, wasn’t she? Pining after the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LIGHT ANGST <3 also smut :-) also emotions? and crying. anyway, i'm fine-

Jinsol looked down at the cup of coffee. Black and acidic and horribly unappetising.

“Go on. Just have a sip,” Jungeun urged, sliding it across the counter, closer to Jinsol. “Go on.”

“You know I can’t take it like this, Jungeun,” Jinsol sighed, lifting the cup to her lips anyway. “It’s so bad for your stomach lining. Give me some sugar or milk or something.”

“Hey, I was kind enough to caffeinate you,” teased Jungeun, reaching across the counter to poke Jinsol’s nose lightly. “So ungrateful.”

They laughed airily, the orange sun still low in the sky, pouring through the display window and sending harsh orange hues across Jungeun’s face. There was a strange feeling in the air. It settled in here the moment Jungeun came in as Jinsol was setting up the store, smiling widely, with two coffees in her hands. It got stronger when she’d said _I was in the neighbourhood, I wanted to see you._ And now, as they sipped their coffees and smiled at each other for no particular reason, Jinsol thought this feeling couldn’t possibly get stronger than this.

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to repay you,” Jinsol said, taking a bigger sip this time, because Jungeun was right. Caffeine was caffeine was caffeine.

“Does it involve your tongue? I only accept repayments that involve your tongue.” Jungeun only laughed as Jinsol spluttered unflatteringly. 

The door creaked open and they both looked over to see Sooyoung, her own coffee in hand, closing the door shut behind her with her foot. “Gross,” she muttered as her eyes landed on them. “Isn’t it bad enough that every time I step into the storeroom, I am surrounded by the lingering memory of you guys fucking? Now I have to be reminded of it first thing in the morning?”

“Good morning to you too, Sooyoung!” said Jungeun, unfazed. “Nice to see you’re switching things up with your look. What is that, midnight black instead of onyx black?” 

“Oh, so she’s funny too. Great.” Sooyoung joined Jinsol behind the counter, dumping her bag on the floor loudly. She stood there, resting her weight on one foot, narrowed eyes trained on Jungeun.

“Yeah. Shockingly enough, hot people can be funny too!” Jinsol joked with a sardonic, yet fond, glance at Jungeun. “Who woulda thunk it?”

“You're just so kind, sweetheart.”

“Though, there _is_ something to be said about hot people getting away with having no sense of humour, because they never had to develop a personality,” Jinsol added, gaze flicking back to Sooyoung, who didn't look away from Jungeun.

“Hot people get away with lots of other things too,” Sooyoung said monotonously, tone ice cold. “Like leading people on. Or being dishonest.”

For a moment, nobody spoke. Outside, a car of the Seoul city streets honked. The sound spinning fan became deafening in the silence.

Then Jungeun cleared her throat. “Well, uh, the vibes are totally off in here, so I think I’ll be going,” came Jungeun’s voice as it cut through the tension. With a smile that looked rather forced, she leaned over the counter and planted a kiss on Jinsol’s cheek, very gently, soft lips barely brushing her skin.

Jinsol swallowed, trying not to imagine the implications of a gentle kiss on the cheek. Under different circumstances, of course. The non-hookup type.

“Drink your coffee, Jinsol-ah,” she said as she strolled out, not turning around.

The second the door swung shut, Jinsol turned to Sooyoung with a glare. “Okay, firstly, what the fuck? And secondly, why the fuck?”

Sooyoung rolled her eyes, walking the same path Jungeun had just walked towards the door, to hang the ‘Open’. Once it was hung, she stood there for a moment, back turned to Jinsol. “She knows what she’s doing. Do you not see the clear power imbalance here?” Turning around, with arms crossed akimbo and a sickly smile, she added, _“Sweetheart?”_

When Jinsol didn’t respond, still glaring, Sooyoung took it as a cue to continue.

“You’re the inexperienced, emotionally vulnerable one who clearly needs this more than she does.” Jinsol blinked, hard, locking her jaw. Sooyoung could keep her annoyingly accurate psychoanalysis to herself, thank you very much. “Am I so wrong for being worried about my best friend?”

“Yeah, whatever. Just don't be a dick to her.”

And finally, Sooyoung smiled, walking back towards Jinsol, and Jinsol could breathe again. At least if Sooyoung wasn’t angry with her, wasn’t _really_ angry with her, it meant she wasn’t making that big of a mistake. It meant she could keep letting herself spiralling. Letting herself fall further. Into denial, into Jungeun.

“I can be a dick to whoever I want, babe. It’s a part of my charms.” She tapped Jinsol lightly on the nose, just as Jungeun had done earlier.

It was different, though.

-

“Is this— is this ok?”

Jinsol hissed, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. “Y— _Fuck._ Yes. Yes, it’s okay.”

 _Okay_ was hardly the right word for it. Jinsol couldn’t find the words, in fact, she was erring on the side of believing there simply weren’t any words to describe this feeling, this sight, this closeness. Jungeun, shining, a very thin sheen of sweat coating her body, in the yellow light of the storeroom. Hovering over her as she pressed their pussies together, rocking her hips forward experimentally.

Gingerly. Taking care of Jinsol.

Jungeun pulled Jinsol’s thighs even further apart, opening Jinsol’s folds up even more, slotting herself against them, so perfect, so _right._ Jinsol’s eyes rolled back and fell shut, seeing bursts of vivid colour behind her eyelids as she let Jungeun keep rocking against her, let Jungeun push Jinsol’s leg backwards against her chest.

“Flexible girl,” Jungeun breathed out, barely there, sweaty bangs sticking to her forehead, mouth hanging open in bliss. “So pretty.”

Jinsol forced her eyes open, propped herself up on her elbows and locked gazes with Jungeun as she picked up the pace, as they moaned in time with each other, gyrations rhythmical and regular and when Jinsol looked down at where they were connected, she couldn’t help the ragged cry that flew from her lips. Wetness against wetness, vulva against vulva, clit against clit.

Jungeun knew what to say now. She had two months worth of experience now, two months worth of data to draw from, and she knew the filth she had to say to get Jinsol writhing, shaking. She knew the exact combination of _cunt_ and _pussy_ and _good girl_ that made Jinsol whine even where she wasn’t being touched, and she wasn’t one not to make full use of her knowledge.

The filth poured out of her mouth now, as their slick folds swallowed one another, and Jinsol was rendered a shaking, gasping mess. The power Jungeun had over her was dangerous, she was realising, the way all she had to do was say _you’re so pretty, god your tits are so fucking gorgeous_ and Jinsol was broken, shattered. Her’s. Utterly her’s.

And the sounds— _fuck,_ the sounds of their bodies, the pants and the skin on skin of it all, the _obscenity_ of it all— Jinsol faltered and fell back against the tile again, lifting her hips up weakly to meet Jungeun halfway.

“Oh, _baby—”_ she heard Jungeun above her, and then her face was falling into Jinsol’s bare chest, kissing there, licking there, wild and trembling tongue swirling around Jinsol’s nipple. “That’s it, I kno _-ow_ you’re close, aren’t you sweetheart—”

“Yes, yes, _yes—”_

From somewhere in the cloud Jinsol was floating on, she arched up into Jungeun’s mouth, her orgasm thudding through her pelvis, and Jungeun didn’t stop rocking against her, chasing her own high. Choking on Jinsol’s name and closing a hand around her own breast, she tilted her head back as she cried out into the ether, something incoherent and loud, coming hard. 

“Mm,” Jinsol hummed, watching as Jungeun shuddered and rolled off Jinsol, laying next to her. “That was one of our best ones yet.”

They turned their naked forms around at the same time, facing each other, still a distance between them. This dreaded distance.

“Naturally, because I was doing all the work,” jested Jungeun, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, her smirk sending warmth into Jinsol’s belly, despite their very recent activities.

“Alternatively, it was because I suggested we try the fabled scissor,” Jinsol retorted, rolling her eyes. “Such an _influencer_ thing for you to do, take credit for someone else’s ideas.”

Jungeun laughed, high and careless. “Hey, you didn’t have to come for my career like that!” When she tilted her head back, Jinsol really, _really_ wanted to kiss her neck. Her jaw. Maybe even her forehead. 

Then, Jungeun was doing just that. Closing the gap between them and nosing into Jinsol’s neck, pressing a light kiss into her throat. Draping a hand over her waist, and in that moment, just for that brief moment, Jinsol let herself imagine this moment, this touch, this tableau of post-orgasmic bliss, existing in a different world.

Jungeun closed her hand over Jinsol’s, sighing softly against Jinsol’s neck, and on pure animal instinct, Jinsol interlaced their fingers. She could’ve sworn she heard Jungeun’s breath hitch just then, but she could feel Jungeun’s heart beat against her own, and she couldn’t focus on much else.

And suddenly, Jinsol felt like she might cry.

“S’nice,” Jungeun mumbled into Jinsol’s skin, and Jinsol could feel her lips stretch into a smile. “We have good sex.”

Jinsol nodded imperceptibly, because she couldn’t disagree. Each time was better than the last, and the first time was pretty damn great as it stood.

“I’d say, of all my hookups, we have the best sex, Jinsol-ah.”

And there it was.

_Ouch._

“Oh,” breathed Jinsol, chest tight, throat tight. She was thankful Jungeun’s head was still firmly tucked into her neck, so her expression of pure, unmitigated agony was hidden. “I— Why, I’m flattered,” she somehow managed, her chuckle forced and bitter on her tongue. Because humour was the only way she knew to mask this. Compartmentalise the pain, tuck it away neatly.

She shook her shoulder, sitting up abruptly. 

“You good?” Jungeun asked, sitting up too.

Jinsol stood up, and all of a sudden, she was acutely aware of how naked she was. How bare she was, under Jungeun’s gaze like this. “Uh, yeah. Sure I am. I’m— I have to be somewhere.”

Acutely aware of the more harrowing fact that even with clothes on, she was just as bare. Completely and wholly stripped bare, when it came to matters of Jungeun.

-

Jinsol woke up the next morning, alone in someone else’s bed, half-dressed and mortified.

Her clothes were folded neatly at the foot of the bed. “Fuck,” she murmured, voice metallic, as she shot up and threw them on, forced awake by the onslaught of memories from her drunken escapades the previous night.

The four flaming tequila shots. The girl who danced with her, manicured nails on her hips as she leaned in for a kiss on the dance floor. Jinsol leaning in close to her ear. _Take me home?_ she’d implored, pleading. 

(Just to know that she could. The most twisted, masochistic way to prove something to herself.)

She remembered laying there, eyes squeezed shut, because the girl, beautiful though she was, paled in comparison. Nothing about her could match up, and that wasn’t her fault. It was Jinsol’s. It was entirely Jinsol’s fault, because she had set herself up for failure. Jinsol knew, the moment the girl settled between her legs, that she would have her eyes shut for the whole ordeal. Imagining something else.

Red lips and blonde hair and whispers of _sweetheart._

The girl didn’t offer Jinsol her number or breakfast. Jinsol appreciated that.

-

Sooyoung shut her magazine loudly, in a way that Jinsol knew was a call for attention. So she kept dusting the gramophone, deciding not to give Sooyoung the satisfaction.

“Yah, Jinsol-ah. Am I just supposed to skip over the fact that you’re in yesterday’s clothes, smell like tequila, and are oozing shame from every orifice?”

Jinsol kept dusting, bending low to blow a particularly stubborn bit of fluff off the volume dial. “Yeah, do that, please.”

“Jinsol.”

When Jinsol finally looked over, Sooyoung didn’t have her arms crossed, or her lips pressed together, or her brows furrowed. She was just sitting there. Beseeching and confounded and disappointed. And that made it infinitely worse. Infinitely more real.

“Jinsol. What are you doing?”

Jinsol opted instead to fixate on her feet. Sooyoung’s eyes held a truth that Jinsol knew, one that Jinsol had known from the first time Jungeun’s lips had touched hers, one that after all this time, Jinsol was still too weak to face. One that she had to look away from.

Pathetic. She was pathetic, wasn’t she? Pining after the wind.

The door creaked open. “Man, I thought this place would be busier.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Sooyoung flipped her magazine back open with an affected sigh, like she’d given up. “No, Jiwoo-ah, it’s our lunch break,” clarified Sooyoung, not looking up. “Flyers?”

“Nope, just wanted to drop by and say hi. Missed you guys since the last gig,” Jiwoo said, radiating her patently infectious smile that would otherwise be impossible for Jinsol not to be bewitched by. Not today, though. Today, she barely managed to lift the corner of her lips up, not even when Jiwoo squeezed her tightly. “Oh, shit. Babe, you smell like tequila and bad sex. What happened last night?”

Jiwoo pulled back, nose wrinkled, and from behind the counter, Sooyoung snorted. “Get in line. I’m still waiting for her to open up to me about her sordid love life. Maybe you can help me ease it out of her.”

Still smiling that blinding smile of hers, Jiwoo joined Sooyoung behind the counter, her bubblegum pink platform heels clacking against the floor. “Seems to me like she fucked someone as a major overreaction to a hugely emotional event that she didn’t want to deal with like an adult!” she chirped, resting her face in her palms.

“That’s— I mean…” Jinsol spluttered, then sighed. “That’s exactly right, actually.”

“Well go on then, tell us everything.” Jiwoo waved her hand vaguely. “That way you won’t fuck another random chick again tonight and subject Sooyoung to this, uh… _fragrance_ tomorrow.”

Jiwoo could be scarily fierce for someone so inhumanly adorable. 

Dropping the feather duster, Jinsol took big strides to join the other two girls, and held her hands out on the counter, palms up. Sooyoung recognised the wordless gesture, and with a pained look, took Jinsol’s hands. Sooyoung was pissed, sure, but she knew Jinsol needed to be reminded that she was here, and she was safe. Jinsol realised, when Sooyoung squeezed her hands, that maybe this was hurting Sooyoung just as much as it was hurting Jinsol.

“I… I’ve been hooking up with this girl,” said Jinsol, trying to piece together a coherent enough story for Jiwoo. “Except, I’ve _only_ been hooking up with her, and until yesterday, I thought she’d _only_ been hooking up with me. But she isn't. Which bothers me.”

“And it shouldn’t. Because if she was just a hookup, you wouldn’t care. But you do, and that scares you.”

“It terrifies her,” said Sooyoung, reading Jinsol’s mind, like she always did. “Because she’s spent so long separating the idea of sexual intimacy and emotional intimacy that combining the two seems like complete blasphemy.”

God, Jinsol felt so fucking pathetic, blinking away tears like this. “And the thing is… I don’t care that she isn’t mine. That she isn’t _really_ mine. Because, sometimes, she really is. When we’re close, and she’s touching me, and we kiss— it really fucking feels like she’s mine,” Jinsol said, voice trembling from biting back a sob. “And that’s enough. It honestly feels like that could be enough. Just those moments, you know?”

Sooyoung’s thumbs swiped at the tears on Jinsol’s cheeks. “Here’s the thing, sweetie,” said Jiwoo after a moment of rumination. “Those moments can’t sustain you. They aren’t real. Either you tell her you need more than this, and hope she does too… or you walk away. Because this isn’t what you need. It might be what you want, but it’s not what you need.”

Jinsol took a deep breath, collecting herself, and nodding resolutely. The concept was almost hopeful, alluringly adult in a way that was undoubtedly enticing— making a healthy decision for the good of her mental health. Taking care of herself.

But then the door was creaking open again, and when Jinsol turned around, the appeal of being a responsible, emotionally mature adult was gone. Evaporated in the sheer, overpowering heat of Jungeun’s presence. 

“I know it isn’t breakfast, but here’s coffee anyway,” Jungeun rushed out as she strutted across the store and plopped a Starbucks cup on the counter. “Didn’t wanna break my 5-day streak.”

“Uh. Thanks,” Jinsol said.

And for a moment, it almost looked like Jungeun was leaning in for a kiss. The chaste kiss that a couple might share, the _thank you for the coffee babe_ kiss that Jinsol had been aching to give Jungeun every single day she had shown up to drop off coffee for the past week. For a moment, Jungeun was leaning in, regarding Jinsol’s mouth intensely, something other than lust in her gaze. It looked like affection, maybe. Fondness.

Then, Jiwoo. “I’m a fan,” she said indistinctly, and the moment was gone.

Jungeun’s attention was off Jinsol, as she looked towards Jiwoo instead. “Wow. Cool, thanks,” Jungeun beamed. She threw one last glance at Jinsol, before walking backwards, away from them. When Jinsol looked back at Sooyoung, she was staring at her hands, lips pursed, and Jinsol felt tears pricking at her eyes again. “Well, bye guys. I’ll see you tonight, Jinsol-ah!”

“See you,” Jinsol said to the closed door.

“So it’s her. Wow,” Jiwoo murmured, jutting out her lower lip.

“Ouch,” said Sooyoung, looking back up. “That must’ve hurt. That literally, physically hurt me. Right Jiwoo?”

But Jiwoo was lost in thought. As if she’d seen something in their interaction that had sent her into a meditative trance as she ruminated on her observations. “You know, Jinsol,” she said, like a wise old turtle with a penchant for pastel clothing, “I think you need to have a frank conversation with Jungeun about how you feel. I get the feeling she has some feelings too.”

“Feelings,” Jinsol stuck her tongue out at the word, overwhelmed by the icky feeling it gave her. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”

-

-

Jinsol couldn’t pinpoint when it was exactly that all her plans got flushed down the shitter. All she knew is that she had successfully gotten to Jungeun’s front door, muttering the script she’d prepared under her breath, ready to deliver it before anything got out of hand. Then the door to the apartment opened, and Jungeun was standing there, naked as the day she was born, pulling Jinsol past the threshold with the cheekiest giggle ever giggled— and what was Jinsol supposed to do? Blurt out _I think I have feelings for you_ while Jungeun was standing there, not a stitch of fabric on?

Jinsol was only human. Warm-blooded, lust-driven. Helpless to Jungeun.

And now they were in bed (Jungeun was right, beds were definitely better than floors), Jinsol having been divested of her clothes as well, legs entangled as they kissed, palming each other’s breasts and pinching each other’s nipples, already panting. 

“Want to fuck you,” Jungeun murmured into Jinsol’s mouth, hand wandering down, ghosting lightly across Jinsol’s public hairs. Enough to make her shiver with anticipation. “Can I fuck you?”

“What do you— _unh—”_

Jungeun was spreading Jinsol’s lips apart with her index and ring finger, her middle finger sliding into Jinsol easily, her pussy already slick, dripping down the side of her thigh. “Well, sweetheart? Can I?” One finger became two, became three, and Jungeun was fucking into her hard and rough.

“Aren’t you— _hng—_ aren’t you doing that?” Jinsol cried out, hooking a leg over Jungeun’s thigh. 

“With my strap-on, I mean,” Jungeun said, chuckling at the expression that manifested on Jinsol's face. 

“Yeah,” Jinsol breathed, and Jungeun’s fingers slipped out of her, leaving Jinsol feeling decidedly empty. Jinsol didn’t usually need to be penetrated, in fact she rarely even wanted to be— but something about today had Jinsol wanting to be filled. Wrecked, even.

She watched, pupils blown and curious, as Jungeun opened a drawer by her bedside and pulled out her strap-on. It was an old-fashion leather thing, worn out and enormous in a way that was making Jinsol’s mouth water. “Fuck me already,” she said weakly, leaning back into the bed and opening her legs as Jungeun tightened the contraption around her thighs. 

“Getting there, baby,” Jungeun replied with a laugh, lubing the length of it up so the silicone was glossy and smooth. 

“How do you want me?” Jinsol asked, and for a purely logistical question, it came out more suggestively than intended. “Wanna fuck me from the back?”

“No, sweetheart,” Jungeun mumbled, settling between Jinsol’s thighs, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. “I want to look at your face while I fuck you.”

Jungeun fucked Jinsol without pretense, without preamble. She thrust her hips forward, pushing the whole length of the silicone phallus into Jinsol, so roughly that Jinsol had to reach behind her and hang on to the headboard for dear life. 

“Shit, _fuck—”_ she cried, as Jungeun angled her hips just right, clearly adept at this particular maneouvre. _“Fuck_ that’s deep,” she sobbed out, Jungeun’s pace relentless as she pounded, and pounded harder still.

The sight of Jinsol, splayed out in the throes of ecstasy seemed to be doing something for Jungeun, who was gasping too, her hand finding its way to Jinsol’s hair and tugging lightly. “You like that baby?” she was asking, but Jinsol couldn’t answer, she couldn't think. 

She didn’t want to. She wanted to drown, get taken in by the waves of Jungeun’s tsunami and drown. Jungeun kept fucking her, and Jinsol reached down to rub her own clit. “Fuck me, harder Jungeun, _harder—”_ she heard herself say, wanting to fall apart, wanting to shatter. 

And Jungeun heeded, because she always did. She braced her hands on Jinsol’s waist, pulling her in with each driving of her hips, the sounds of their sweaty skin colliding filling the room, the broken, ragged moans that they didn’t know came from themselves or each other rendering everything else peripheral. They were looking into each other’s eyes, and Jinsol felt like she might be a part of Jungeun, like maybe she had cemented herself into her somehow — she felt like they were two parts of the same body, two fingers on the same hand, breathing in time, knowing what to do prior to words needing to be spoken. 

Jungeun had whispered her name, soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the boundless strength of her thrust. She’d whispered, soft and gentle, Jinsol’s name, just Jinsol’s name, and Jinsol came harder than she ever had. She flailed like a live wire as electric shocks of pure pleasure coursed through her. Jungeun kissed her suddenly, pushing her climax even higher, swallowing her moans and not stopping until Jinsol had ridden her high through, completely. 

“That’s right baby, come around me, just like that,” Jungeun strained out against Jinsol’s mouth. 

“Jesus,” Jinsol said, still shaking, as Jungeun pulled out of her. “Jesus. Fuck. Jesus.”

“Insert something funny about not using the lord’s name in vain or something,” Jungeun said, seemingly too out-of-it to actually make a joke, shimmying out of the strap-on, and rubbing circles around her clit immediately. “God, you were hot.”

Jinsol moved without thinking, moved because she knew, she just knew, replacing Jungeun’s hand with her own. She draped half her body over Jungeun’s so she could nibble at her neck, her jaw, stick a tongue in Jungeun’s ear. “Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah, you were. You’re so beautiful _— shit._ God, loved fucking your pussy—” Jungeun opened her legs wider for Jinsol, who picked up the pace. “So tight. You were so tight for me. _Fuck.”_

It didn’t take long for Jungeun to come, arching up, and Jinsol closed her mouth over Jungeun’s breast as she shuddered and whimpered. She came apart in Jinsol’s hands, and how was Jinsol supposed to walk away from this? How was she supposed to look at this and have this, _her,_ even if it was some elaborate play pretend, and walk away from this?

-

No time seemed to be the right time. 

Jungeun was pulling on a robe, and Jinsol had to watch, awestruck, so that wasn’t the right time. Then Jungeun was making them tea and telling Jinsol about her week, and that wasn’t the right time either, because Jungeun was being so animated and passionate, gestures all excited, and Jinsol couldn’t bring herself to interrupt. Then Jungeun was kissing her, as they stood in her kitchen, deep and ardent, holding Jinsol’s face as she licked into her mouth, and that definitely wasn’t the right time.

But no time was going to be the right time, and there was a rising ball of guilt and fear and anger, almost, rising up Jinsol’s esophagus and threatening to burst forth from her lips. So she pulled away.

“Hey, can we talk?” she said, backing away, putting a distance between them. This dreaded distance.

“Great timing,” Jungeun sipped her tea, chuckling lightly. “Sure, what about?”

Jinsol backed away yet further. “I like you, I think,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut, almost a question. “I think I like you more than a hookup should.”

“Oh.” Biting her tongue, Jungeun balked. “I kind of… I don’t really know what to say, Jinsol-ah.”

“I’m sorry,” Jinsol said, feeling stupid. Feeling stupid that she’d hoped for anything at all. Sorry for a lot of things. Sorry she couldn’t keep this up. Sorry she caught feelings. Sorry she couldn’t keep going on pretending like this was enough. Just, sorry.

“Why?” Jungeun asked. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I just— I know you don’t want this. Me. I don’t know.” Jinsol ran a hand through her hair, surprisingly calm. “I fucked up something pretty great, I think.”

“You didn’t fuck it up,” said Jungeun, shrugging.

Jinsol didn’t know what that meant. She figured it was polite posturing, a platitude to placate Jinsol to avoid tears or breakdowns. She looked at Jungeun, how calm she was, and figured this wasn’t the first time someone had fallen prey to her like this. And she felt even more stupid.

She turned her back to Jungeun, heading for the door suddenly. “I’m gonna go, I think,” she heard herself say, sight blurry now. 

“Wait, what?” 

“I have to go.”

“Wait. Wait— Jinsol, wait! Can't we at least talk about this?” Jinsol could hear Jungeun trailing after her and Jinsol found herself wishing her house was smaller, because the more she heard Jungeun’s voice, the more she wanted to turn around and fall into her arms again and pretend again. Pretend that was enough.

“No,” Jinsol said, voice cracking as she finally reached the front door, pulling it open. She turned around with a deep breath, looked right into Jungeun’s eyes. “I can’t be what you need, Jungeun, I just can’t.”

“How the hell do you know what I need?” Jungeun locked her jaw. 

_“I_ need more than this, Jungeun. I don’t know— I didn’t think I did, but I do, I just need more.”

Jungeun stood there, arms limp at her sides. “Okay. Okay, well… if you want to go, I can’t stop you, can I?”

And _fuck,_ there was so much Jinsol wanted to say— yes, you can stop me, you can take me and kiss me and I’d stay. I’d stay if it meant you’d kiss me and buy me coffee and call me sweetheart for the rest of measurable time. I’d stay if it meant I had you. I’d stay even if I didn’t.

But Jinsol just stood there, arms limp at her sides too. “I guess I’ll see you around,” Jinsol said softly, biting at her lower lip.

“Yeah. I’ll see you around.” 

They were lies, and they both knew it.

Jungeun shut the door. “Wait,” Jinsol said, a whisper. Just a moment too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u liked it, let me know what u think and I PROMISE THINGS WILL WORK OUT ! ok xxx


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